Everything Happens for a Reason?
by M2S
Summary: I have missed Vartann, so here is a Vartann fic!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own them, though I gave Vartann a first name and a wife.

A/N: I have sorely missed my Vartann this second half of the season. Thanks to Anushka for suggesting a fic about him. I got stuck for a while, but now it's come along.

No worries - no romance here. I just like imagining Det. Vartann. And since we've never heard his first name, I gave him the same first name as the actor that plays him.

* * *

Alex Vartann was lonely. He could admit it. He was sitting there, after a long shift, thinking about the gold ring on Warrick Brown's finger. When he had first seen it, he had congratulated the man warmly, though he hadn't missed the look on Catherine Willows' face. There was a woman taken aback. But he had been sincere in his congratulations. He had been with Warrick the night he met the hot nurse at Desert Palms. He had noticed the way Warrick started talking about "his girl" whenever they were on cases.

He was jealous. Other men could say what they wanted about bachelorhood, but Alex knew he was a man that was meant to be married. Too bad his wife hadn't felt the same.

It was hard to be a cop's wife. He understood that, he thought. He had tried to make up for it by spending his salary on anything she wanted. In the end she had wanted everything but him. So here he sat again, in the bar that seemed to be mostly LVPD patrons.

"Great way to meet women," he told himself. How had he made it to 40 years of age with no wife and no kids? That is what he always thought he would have. That is what he always wanted. Some men might be afraid to say it, but Alex wanted the 2.5 kids, the dog and the house with a two-car garage. He drank his beer and paid his tab. Then Alex Vartann went home to his empty apartment.

He hated this apartment. Mona, the almost ex, had graciously offered him the house to live in, but he had deferred. He didn't want to live in their house without her. Now the house was empty with a "For Sale by Hidden Desert Realty" sign in the front. Evidently Mona didn't want to live in it either. He knew why. She had another place to stay, with another man, that fucking asshole Mitch.

Vartann shucked his suit coat and left his clothes in a pile in his bedroom. He had never been a sloppy guy, but this morning, he just didn't feel like making the extra effort to pick them up and fold them. Normally, that is what he would have done – folded every thing nicely and taken them to the cleaners with the other nicely folded shirts, pants, and jackets on his bedroom chair. Now standing in his boxers and a t-shirt, he surveyed his closet. He pulled out a pair of shorts and a light windbreaker for his "unwind" run, as he thought of it. He stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and looked at himself hard in the mirror.

He looked old, he thought. He felt old. His blue eyes stared back at him with intensity. He knew his eyes helped him in the interrogation room, but now, he didn't want to be under his own gaze. This is what he had come to – everyday was the same. Work, eat, beer, run and sleep. What the hell was he doing with his life?

Vartann didn't consider himself a religious man. Both meditation and ritual struck him as contrived. Even so, he could see that this habit was close to a daily rite. Was it a daily penance or a daily prayer? Through the morning, waking heat of the desert, he ran. Even through the sudden rainstorms that could deluge the area, as if God himself had rethought the covenant and the rainbow, and decided that at least Sin City needed to be flooded again, if not the whole world. He ran, this the only time that his mind emptied and he was allowed to be.

He was the pounding of his feet on the sidewalk and asphalt. He was his own rhythmic breathing. He was the feel of the air whistling past his skin and hair. He was a runner, nothing more.

Most cops did something to empty their heads at the end of the day; so many drank that alcoholism was a hazard of the job. Vartann welcomed the daily beer, but running was his bag, giving him a lean and hungry look. It sharpened his facial structure and framed his icy blue eyes. They were deep set eyes that seemed brighter for having stared out from beneath dark, sharp eyebrow ridges. His wife always joked that his cheekbones would slice if you weren't careful.

Ex-wife. Alex could feel himself falter a bit when she entered his mind. He pushed her away - far, far away. It's what she said he was best at anyway. He forced himself to concentrate back on the slap of his feet, and he forced the pace a little harder.

He was particularly worn out when he came back to his apartment that day. He showered with water as hot as he could stand, welcoming the red look of his skin and heat radiating off his body. He brushed his teeth, aware of how hard he was gripping the toothbrush. The dentist always commented on his receding gum line. He seemed to take a lot of frustrations out on his teeth.

He collasped into his double bed, painfully aware of how small it would have seemed with another person in it, and also of how big it seemed to him alone. He fell asleep with that thought on his mind.

XXXXXX

As he got ready for work the next afternoon, Alex already had his mind on a possible homicide he had started investigating the night before. He wondered what the coroner would decide, and what the CSI's might have found.

They were an odd bunch. He liked most of them, but they just worked differently than the detectives. Whereas the detectives might just read a suspect and know from experience that the guy (or girl) was guilty, the CSI's were charged with "following the evidence". He had heard Grissom say it more than once. They were supposed to work in tandem, complimenting each other, but the fundamental differences sometimes led to bruised egos and heated exchanges. Ed Cavaliere hated them. Hated was a strong word, but Ed and Nick Stokes had gotten into it over a case the year before, and that had only increased Cav's disdain for the group. Vartann himself wondered how anyone could get into with Stokes. Nick was as easy-going of a guy as could be. After the kidnapping incident with Nick several months back, Cav had gotten a little easier on the CSI's, but he had not been happy when Brass had introduced Sofia Curtis as their new detective.

Vartann had never worked much with Sofia when she was a CSI. Most of her time had been spent on day shift, and her time on night shift had been brief before she moved to Denver for a detective position there. It had surprised Alex to hear of her departure. He hadn't known she was interested in being one of them. But she was, and now she was back.

Brass had been glad to have her. He had admired her work and had used the word "moxie" to describe her. Vartann wasn't really aware than anyone actually used that phrase outside of old movies, but Brass had used it, in a tongue in cheek sort of way. Vartann didn't care much one way or the other. Another detective would be nice to have. He appreciated any help they could get. Cavaliere, predictably, had been pissed about it.

"Great - not only do they bring in a chick, but it's a CSI chick. Those girls are nothing but ball busters," Cav had said. Vartann had looked around to see if Brass had heard, but he should have known that Ed wasn't that stupid.

"What do you care, Ed? What's with all the chauvinism?" Alex had asked. Ed Cavaliere had skewered him with a glare.

"Chauvinism? What - your wife got you reading Cosmo now?" Ed had asked. Vartann hadn't said anything about his separation to Cav. Sam Vega, who did know, had given Alex a sympathetic look.

"Give a rest, Cav," Vega said. "With her background, she could be an asset. Besides, she's with us now, so you might as well get used to it." Sam took a sip of his coffee, ignoring Cavaliere seething looks.

"Well, when she starts pulling that CSI bull out of her ass, I don't want to hear any whining from you two," Ed said. He stood up and grabbed his coffee, stalking off to his desk. He turned back and said, "When you girls are finished with the Equal Rights meeting, let me know."

"What the hell is Cav's problem?" Alex had said to Sam, rolling his eyes. Sam and smiled over the top of his coffee cup.

"Maybe his boyfriend quit giving him some," Vega had said in his lyrical accent. Alex laughed, thinking of how pissed that comment would have made Cavaliere.

"Maybe so," Vartann had answered.

XXXXXXXXXX

Vartann reached the station thinking of the day Sofia had been brought back to Vegas. She had mostly worked with Brass since then. It was customary for a new detective to work with a veteran for several weeks as a probationary period, but since Sofia had a history in the city, Brass had been letting her run solo a good bit. Cav had been pissed about that too, but Vartann didn't care. If it took pressure off him and allowed him to concentrate on the cases he had open, he was fine with it.

But that evening, he almost changed his mind. They were going to be on stakeout and Brass had paired him and Sofia together. Vartann had a mildly panicked feeling.

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with Sofia - it was just that being around women in general was alarming since going through the divorce. The on-going, extremely amicable divorce that was driving him crazy in all it's super friendliness.

He felt like a heel, but he couldn't contain his apprehensiveness about sitting in a car with the lady for hours on end. And then he had found out that he wouldn't be sitting in a car with her. He would be staying in an apartment with her.

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A/N: And so ends Chap 1. Yes,I included Sofia - hey, TPTB should know that they could put her and Vartann together in an ep. It's not going to hurt, I swear.

Now, please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Just so you know, no romance here. Please review!

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Alex and Sofia had been taught the setup of the surveillance equipment by some of the technical whizzes from the department. It was a joint venture with the narcotics unit. Theman under surveillance was suspected of being a cog in a huge ring of prescription drug distribution and also for murder of a teen prostitute in cold case. Vartann had worked the original murder, but had never been able to pin it on the bastard. Now, the plan was to bust him on the narcotics and take DNA evidence for testing in the murder case. Vartann knew that the hope was that by pinning the murder on him, narcotics would have more leverage to make him sing on the distribution ring. He hated to see the lowlife get some leeway in serving the maximum for the teen's murder, but he knew this was how it worked.

He and Sofia would be watching the apartment next door in shifts. A crew of narc detectives would be at the front, back and side entrances of the complex to tail the man. Evidently they were waiting on him to go on a big buy. They had little suspicions that the man would have the buyers at his house, but Vartann and Sofia were the back up just in case.

The tech crew left in pairs at 30 minute increments, going different ways out the complex. Sofia and Vartann were left to themselves.

"So, how do you want to handle this Det. Curtis?" Vartann began asking. "I figured you could have first choice on shifts." He felt a little weird about calling her Det. Curtis, especially since the last time he had worked with her, she had been a CSI, and he had called her Sofia.

Sofia was nodding her head.

"Thanks. This is my first stakeout, at least in an apartment," she said. "I appreciate the offer, Det. Vartann."

"We're going to be together 24/7 for the next week or so. You can call me Alex," he said gently. Sofia raised an eyebrow and gave him an imperious look. "Or just Vartann will do," he amended. It was going to be a rough week.

"I guess Sofia will do too," she said. "Thanks for using my title though." She looked around the room, which was already feeling too small for Alex. "You feel like some coffee, Vartann?"

"Sure," he answered, trying for casual. What he really felt like was a six pack and a two hour run, but coffee would have to do.

By the end of their normal shift, both were tired but jacked up on coffee. Alex was eating the remains of a supreme pizza that had been delivered to them around 2 AM. Sofia hadn't eaten much, and he had briefly wondered if she were a vegetarian like Sara Sidle. He had eaten lunches with Sara a couple of times when they were on a case together. He liked Sara – she was intense about her job but she could have a dry wit and was smarter than most. But Sofia had eaten a couple of pieces, so Alex didn't worry about it. He did think that as skinny as she was, she could have used a couple more.

"Are you sure you don't want another piece?" he asked from the kitchen. She was sitting in the apartment's living/dining room, watching a lot of nothing on the surveillance monitors.

"No. I've exceeded my weekly limit on pizza already," she declined.

"Suit yourself," he said and placed two pieces on a paper plate.

"I always do," she murmured enigmatically. They sat in not quite companionable silence for a while. The pizza weighed heavily on Alex.

"I would love to go running," he said, sighing discontentedly.

"There's a treadmill in the bedroom I took," Sofia said. Vartann brightened considerably. "Go ahead. I'll keep watching. You can run," she offered.

So he did. He turned on the TV in the bedroom and watched the Today show, which was inane as always. But it reminded him of Mona. She would leave the TV in the bedroom on for him to come home to. It was kind of like her little signature. Even at the end, when she was never home to greet him, when she was seeing someone else, though he didn't know it at the time, she would leave the Today show on for him.

That goof ball Matt Lauer was interviewing some "expert" on eating disorders and Hollywood. They were showing picture after picture of starlets, each thinner than the next. They looked like stick figures. He was still shaking his head about it when he came back into the room with Sofia. She gave him a passing glance and quirked her head at him.

"What?" he said aloud.

"You were shaking your head, like there was some injustice that couldn't be undone," she replied, drolly. She looked tired. But then, he figured he did too.

"Stick girls," he said. She turned around to fully look at him then.

"What are you talking about?"

"Hollywood stick girls. It's crazy. Marilyn Monroe would be considered too big to get into Hollywood these days. Or Kim Novak. Why does anyone think that looks good?" He could see Sofia shaking her head incredulously. Maybe he had offended her. She was pretty slim, herself. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he said.

"It's just that everybody thinks that's your type," Sofia said. "We all know that you're not into women with any weight on them."

Vartann looked at her like she had grown a third head.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Well, I've seen your wife, and she looks about as big around as a toothpick."

"Not anymore," Vartann said. "She looks great now," he said. Sofia must have picked up on the wistfulness in his voice. She gave him a questioning glance.

Alex decided to be open on a whim. It wasn't common knowledge that he and Mona had split, but it wasn't exactly a secret. And if he was going to be sharing an apartment with Sofia for days, she was going to wonder why he wasn't talking to his wife on a regular basis. "She's not exactly my wife anymore. We're in the middle of a divorce," he said. Sofia looked like a lot of pieces were falling into place for her. "It's not my choice," he said, defensively. "She does look great now," he repeated, more to himself than to Sofia.

"What, is she a size 0 now?" Sofia asked caustically.

"What is your problem?" Vartann asked. Why was this woman, to whom he had always been respectful and cordial, deriding him. "And why would you think I dislike women who aren't stick thin? That's ridiculous."

"Really? So you're saying that you didn't make that horrible comment when you went to the 'Hogs and Heifers' convention on a murder investigation a while back? Greg told us, and Grissom confirmed it," she said. "It really made you disliked at the lab."

Alex couldn't fathom what he was talking about at first, but when she mentioned the convention, things clicked. What he would do to Sanders, that little fink.

"Those men and women weighed over 300 lbs, most of them."

"Well, that has been translated into anyone over 130 lb for the women of the lab," Sofia huffed.

"What the …? Look, so I am not attracted to women who consider themselves 'heifers' – their words, not mine. I love curves on a woman. I love soft, rounded bodies." Sofia didn't look as if she believed him. "So you're saying that it doesn't matter to you what a man looks like? That you would immediately be able to look past someone who weighed 350 lb and into his heart," he said. His tone was challenging and sarcastic, and it stung Sofia, who in her time around Vartann had never heard him speak so harshly to anyone but a suspect. He threw up his hands. "Whatever you want to believe, Det. Curtis," he said.

"I'm going to go to bed now, Det. Vartann. You let me know when you would like for me to take the next shift," Sofia said tersely and walked into the back part of the apartment.

Alex was sitting in his jeans and a t-shirt that would normally have had a place under his dress shirt. It was Curtis's turn to sleep, and he had been sitting, watching and listening. The apartment next door was quiet. It had been quiet for two days. They were all wondering what had happened. Did the guy know they were on to him? Where were the buyers that the neighbors had promised made the doors of the apartment look like the swinging doors of an Old West saloon.

He stood up and stretched, wondering when he would ever get to run outside again. He was thankful that this apartment had a treadmill. He and Sofia had taken turns running on it, but it wasn't the same as his outdoor run. He started thinking again about what Curtis had said about all the women of the CSI lab thinking he was a dick. That explained why even Judy, the cute little receptionist, had been a little chilly to him last time. Alex didn't like being a pariah. He never had. He had been voted Most Likable in high school for chrissakes! And yet, here he was, alone personally, and aloof professionally. And to top it off, his partner of the moment was an ice princess who looked on him with disdain, whether deserved or not.

The last time he had a beer with friendly faces had been when he had joined the group congratulating Warrick on his quick wedding. And that had been impromptu. Nick had actually been the one taking Warrick out; Vartann had joined in at the last minute. Brass had invited him as they had walked out of the office into the parking lot. And the look on Warrick's face, that almost imperceptible change from a single man to one married had stabbed Alex.

Where had he gone wrong? His wife had left him. He wasn't the first guy to have it happen to him. He should move on, but he couldn't seem to do it. All he could think of was that his lovely, dark haired Mona, named so aptly, was in that fat fuck's house.

The crazy thing was, all these women were mad at him over some comment – thinking he was some kind of fat chick misogynist, when the fact was, he loved curves. He had always tried to feed Mona, to put some flesh on her too spare frame. But she had been adamant about keeping in a size 4 or below when they were married. He even thought that was one of the reasons she freaked out when he mentioned kids.

The last time he had seen her, she was at least 3 sizes bigger, with full hips and thighs that invited caress - and the rack on her – Jesus. Why would she eat now? Why didn't she eat for him? What did that whale have that he didn't?

Then it dawned on him. It was trust. She trusted Mitch not to leave her. She trusted him to love her, skinny to voluptuous.

Why hadn't she trusted him?

Alex had worked himself into a fine funk by the time Sofia Curtis came out of the bedroom.

"I'm going to run on the treadmill before I get a shower," she said in that unidentifiable accent of hers.

"Whatever," Vartann grumbled, then regretted it when he heard a little huff escape her as she walked back into the bedroom.

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A/N: Please review. And even if you don't like Sofia, let me know what you like about the story in spite of her. Is my Vartann believable? 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

A/N: Vartann deals with his pending divorce and having to be in an apartment with Sofia on stakeout. No romance.

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Sofia wanted him to go to bed, he could tell. It was rubbing him the wrong way, this undeserved disdain. He had made a comment that had probably been in bad taste. OK, so it had been in bad taste, but what gave Greg Sanders the right to go spreading around the lab that he didn't like women with any weight on them? Greg was following Sara around like a puppy, and it wasn't like she was packing any extra on her frame. And what gave Sofia Curtis the right to judge him at all? She didn't know him, other than to have worked with him a little. He was beginning to feel like he had nothing to lose anymore – no wife, no house, and no real friends.

"You know, you can't be mad at me about something I might have said, that was most definitely misconstrued. You can't judge me before you even know me, and now we're sitting in this little fucking apartment walking on eggshells with one another. It's not right. We're partners, at least on this case. Partners talk," Vartann said, with little introduction.

Sofia just looked at him. Her face was blank. Then she frowned at him.

"So talk," she said, unfazed by his outburst. She was infuriating. "Explain, or don't. Talk about the case. I don't care. You're the one sulking."

"I'm not sulking," he protested, though he had to admit, it did feel a bit like he was sulking.

"Your choice," she said mildly.

Their chat was interrupted by a phone call to Norman Gimble, the suspect next door. They listened carefully as Norman, and someone named Donnie, made an arrangement for Donnie to come to the Norman apartment for a "special treat" as Norman called it.

"This is it," said Sofia. Vartann was already on the phone to the narcs in the vans below.

Donnie, who appeared to be a business man in his mid-thirties, arrived at the pre-arranged time. Both Sofia and Vartann, who had gotten at least a couple hours sleep, were watching in the apartment. The plan was to watch and let Donnie leave the building afterwards. Then he would be pulled over by a black and white and searched. Once the drugs were found on him or his car, he would be booked, and maybe used as a wire tap. Donnie and Norman shook hands and made a little small talk. Donnie looked nervous, or maybe excited, to Vartann's eye. To Sofia and Alex's disappointment, the men walked to the back of the apartment where there was no surveillance. The judge had only given permission for the main living area of the man's apartment. To their surprise, Norman walked back out and toward the kitchen area.

"What the hell is he doing?" Sofia asked. "Is he using the drugs back there? I thought this guy was a dealer in large volume."

"He is. Mid-level. He shouldn't be dealing with individual buyers, and I can't imagine him letting them use in his apartment. This is strange," Vartann agreed. Within thirty minutes, Donnie had come back into the living room. To Alex's eye, he looked lightly disheveled and almost high. The two men seemed to be negotiating a price.

"A nice piece," said Donnie. "How many other buyers?"

"Two at least. I have thought of keeping it for myself," Norman had answered.

Sofia and Vartann looked at each other, confused.

"Are they talking art now? Or furniture?" Sofia asked.

"Maybe it's code," Vartann replied, though his brain was percolating behind his bright eyes. The two men shook hands again. Donnie had said that he had an older piece that Norman might want to trade. They agreed that Norman would come look at it tomorrow.

Sofia was talking with the narcs. They would follow Norman tomorrow. Vartann would stay at the apartment and Sofia would go with the set of detectives following him.

"I'm sorry," Vartann said, after things had gone back to mind-numbingly normal in the apartment next door. "It's rough being on a stakeout," he said, as an excuse.

"Don't be sorry," Sofia said, surprising him. "Maybe we shouldn't have all taken Greg's report to heart. It sounded very callous, though," she offered. Vartann felt a little better.

"It _was _callous, and unthinking," Vartann admitted. "But I was pretty … bitter at that time. I had just found out that she was cheating on me."

"What does that have to do with overweight women?" Sofia asked.

"Nothing. But when you've been stepped on like that, you feel like lashing out at anyone. And I did," he said, his tone apologetic. "It's strange, but I kept going through denial. I remember, not long after that, Ecklie and I were interviewing this older woman. You were out of town, but you might have heard about it - the case where the body went missing – and the older women going on and on about her husband, and she asked Ecklie if he was married. And then she asked me, and I really didn't have an answer. So I just side stepped it," Vartann said. He hadn't thought about it before, but now he was looking back on the last few months with more clarity. Maybe his comment on the case wasn't the only reason the ladies of the lab had been chilly to him. Everyone had been chilly to him, except Sam Vega. And Sam was just too nice to turn his back on a guy in that predicament. If he admitted it, he was still in denial, because almost no one knew that he was in the middle of a divorce. Had he been this way with Mona? She always told him that he never let his guard down enough with her, that he always pulled away. "Maybe I'm to blame for being alone," he said. He murmured it to himself, but Sofia caught it.

"It's hard being a cop's wife, or boyfriend for that matter," she offered. "It's hard to be a cop's family in general."

"Yeah. Well, I thought I understood that. I thought I was doing right by her," he said. It was strange to be talking about this, finally. It was stranger to be talking about it to Sofia Curtis.

"Everything happens for a reason," she said. He cut his eyes at her.

"Really? You believe that?" he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"No. But I try." She squirmed a little. "I really thought that I was the one who shot the uniform," she said abruptly. Alex raised his eyebrows. He had never heard Sofia talk about the friendly fire incident that had happened months before. "At first, I knew that I hadn't, but I kept playing it over and over in my head until I convinced myself that it was me. I would be driven off the force and there was no way I could hold my head up in Vegas."

"But it was Jim," Alex said softly. Sofia's eyes looked suspiciously watery.

"Yeah, and watching him handle that has been the biggest lesson of my career." She shook her head and looked back at Vartann. "So, yeah, I try to believe that everything happens for a reason. Because in a deserving world, it wouldn't have been Jim Brass' cross to bear."

They ate Chinese delivery that night. The tension that had been between them for the last few days had subsided, and they had even found themselves telling war stories about their careers. Unguarded, Sofia could be surprisingly funny, and had a prankster side he wouldn't have guessed.

"So, you're the one who kept hiding Ecklie's name plate," Vartann was saying.

"He never suspected me, his right hand, the quality control officer," Sofia said, laughing. She was remembering the look on Conrad's face when he had seen his name plate on the utility closet. She groaned as she got up from the couch to take her paper plate to the trashcan. "I've eaten more actual meals in the last three days than I have in the last three weeks, I think. I never sit down and eat anymore."

"I know what you mean. Without Mona around, I don't think to cook. I just eat whatever's handy, or out. Last week, I actually made a meal out of a couple of pieces of deli meat, a piece of cheddar and half a jar of pickles. No bread."

"Sounds like a crappy supper," Sofia said.

"Yeah, and a worse breakfast," Alex responded. Sofia wrinkled her nose and made a noise of disgust.

"I'm going to run on the treadmill and hit the hay," she said. Alex nodded his head as she turned towards the bedroom.

"Sofia," he said, and she turned back towards him, face expectant. "Thanks. For listening," he said softly. She gave him a shy, full smile that he hadn't seen on her before.

"That's what partners do, right?"

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A/N: And one more chapter to come. Please review! 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

A/N: This is the last chapter in my small Vartann centric tale. Please let me know what you think.

* * *

Vartann ran hard on the treadmill, trying to imagine the morning heat on his face and that the sound of the treadmill was replaced by the slapping of his feet on the pavement. Given the fact that he knew it was nearly noon outside and he could hear the music in Norman's apartment from the surveillance equipment, it wasn't working very well. He couldn't wait for something to go down so that they could get out of this stakeout. Brass had promised him a reprieve if they weren't out of it by the weekend. He and Cav would take their places for a few days. Alex would pity Brass having to share the space with Ed, but he wouldn't turn down the chance to get back to his own apartment.

He finished his run and hit the bathroom for a quick shower. He and Sofia said their goodbyes and she left to meet up with the narc team. They knew Norman's appointment with Donnie was around 2:00 pm. Alex settled in on the couch, prepared for a long afternoon of nothing. He watched as Norman came down the hallway from the bedroom with a tray of what looked to be the remains of a lunch. He seemed to take a lot of meals in his bedroom. Vartann was beginning to think he might know why, and it made him very edgy. Norman came back across the screen and seemed to be punching numbers on his cell phone. Vartann listened as Norman talked, obviously to Donnie.

"I'll meet you at your house. We can take a look at the piece, then we'll go to lunch and negotiate," he was saying. Vartann was wondering why the man would need to eat again, unless his suspicions were right. Alex knew what the two men were actually trading. He immediately dialed the narcs in the car outside and explained the situation.

"I'm going in there, and I probably need backup," he said. Within minutes, the three were going through Norman's apartment door. They quickly secured the living room and Vartann headed for the back bedroom. He opened the door to see nothing out of the ordinary.

"What the hell? We better be finding something quick or get our asses out of this apartment," said the narcotics agent. Vartann believed his name was Blackwell. He ignored the man and kept looking. The answer was here somewhere. Then he realized that this bedroom had a much bigger closet than the one in the apartment he and Sofia had been staying in next door. He opened the closet door to find half the closet taken up by an enclosed space with a heavy duty, locked door.

"We've got to get this door open," Vartann said.

"We've got bolt cutters in the car," Blackwell offered. His partner, Fretin, went to retrieve it. "If you're right, they can arrest that SOB now," the narc said.

"I know I'm right," Alex said, lowering his icy gaze on the officer. He could feel the seconds ticking away as they waited for Fretin. He thought he could hear movement in the small enclosure. "We're going to get this asshole this time."

Finally Fretin arrived with the bolt cutters. They all paused for a moment.

"Can we do this, legally?" said Fretin. Blackwell looked at Vartann. He took the bolt cutters from the man.

"We're doing it. I'm thinking just cause – we suspect someone has been harmed," Vartann said while positioning the bolt cutter. The lock easily fell away. He pulled his gun and his badge, positioning his badge in an extended arm ahead of him and his gun at his side. He spoke in his calmest voice through the door. "My name is Det. Alex Vartann. I have two more detectives from the LVPD out here with me. We're opening the door now. Please don't panic, we're here to help you." With that, he pushed the door open and the three cautiously moved to look inside.

"Holy Hell," Blackwell uttered. The small closet within a closet contained one very dazed, very frightened little girl. There was a pallet on the floor and a small "potty chair" in the corner. She was chained to the wall in a pair of handcuffs. Vartann picked the bolt cutters back up and cut the chains. He reached out to the girl, who couldn't have been more than 9 or 10. She shrank back, but peered at him from under a mop of red, curly hair. He picked his badge back up and showed it to her.

"We're here to rescue you, honey," he softly said. She allowed him to pick her up and carry her out of the prison.

Sofia arrived at the hospital worn out and disheveled from the days work. After receiving the surprising communication from Vartann and the other narcs, they had busted into Donnie Demento's house and arrested both the men. They had found another girl, this one around 14, in the house. CSI's had been called to both residences, and now Archie Johnson was in the dreaded process of going through both computers and hordes of DVD's. Sofia didn't relish the prospect of seeing the result of that drudge work. Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown had been the first CSI's to the scene, and Cath had ended up going with the teen to the hospital. Sofia was relieved. She didn't want to go with this one to the hospital. Bad enough when it was a grown woman. She didn't know how Catherine stood it, knowing that she had one around the same age at home. After booking the men and going through the paperwork, she had seen Brass at the office.

"Where's Vartann?" she asked. She had figured he would be there too, finishing up paperwork himself.

"The little girl he found – she wouldn't let go of him. Her parents are coming in from California, so Alex volunteered to stay with her," Brass informed her. "You would have thought she would have preferred Sara Sidle, but the whole time Sara was processing her, she was clinging to his hand like she was drowning." Brass smiled in a sad way.

Sofia finished up, and found herself heading to the hospital. Now she was standing in the little girl's room. The girl was asleep in the bed and Vartann was asleep in a recliner that had been pulled as close to the bed as possible. She walked over and pulled a blanket up around him, then turned to walk out, thinking she would leave a message at the nurse's station.

"Hey," he quietly croaked behind her. She turned around to see his blue eyes shining out at her in the darkness of the room. "You look like hell."

"Thanks. You look like a beacon of rest and relaxation yourself," she returned. They were speaking in hushed tones, aware of the sleeping child. "You rescued two girls today, Det. Vartann," she said, and he was pleased to hear a little admiration in her voice.

"I heard you found a girl at the other residence. She OK?" he asked, rubbing his face with one hand tiredly.

"She's alive. And she's out of that situation, thanks to you," Sofia said. "How did you know?"

"The teen prostitute that we had suspected him of killing – her body had ligature marks that were partially healed. We had always thought she had been kept bound for some time before her death. We never had enough to get a warrant for his apartment though," Alex said, looking at the red mop of hair that was covering the small child's face. "And in the back of my mind, it kept bothering me that he was taking trays to the bedroom. Today, when he took his lunch tray out of the bedroom, and then turned around and made plans for lunch on the phone, I just knew. I knew he had someone else, and that this was the 'piece' they had kept talking about." He finally turned and looked back at Sofia. "Thanks for coming by," he said. It meant a lot that she had come around to see about him.

"It's what partners do," she replied. She patted his leg and stood up. "I'm going to my own apartment for a stiff drink and a long shower. Can I bring you anything?"

"No. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and watched her as she left. Then he turned his attention back to the sleeping little girl to his right.

After a couple of days of interviews, paperwork and finally seeing the little red haired Cecile back in the company of her family, Vartann made it back to the bar that was part of his usual after shift routine. He was surprised when Sofia sat down beside him.

"Hello partner," she said with a smile. "Haven't seen you in a couple of days."

"Yeah, it's been busy, for both of us, I imagine," Alex said, taking a pull off his beer. He motioned to the bartender. "Get my friend here a drink. Anything she would like," he said, gesturing expansively. Sofia laughed and ordered a beer, and with that, Alex thought they became friends - real friends, not just partners. He had never imagined that the friend he drinking beers with would be the ice princess, but then he guessed she had never imagined it would be the guy that hated fat chicks.

"And so you know, your record's a little better around the lab," she told him. He looked at her questioningly. "I put word out that you're not the dick everyone thought." It was blunt words, but her smile softened it.

"And why would you do that?"

"Because you're not the dick that every one thought." They both chuckled at that one.

"Glad to hear that someone thinks so."

"Well, you're not back to hottest detective status, but you'll get there. Especially now that you are a bonafide hero," she said. She stood up to go, and turned back around. "So, tomorrow … I'll buy the beers," she said.  
"Sure," Alex answered. She gave him a little wave and walked out.

Vartann mused on it while he was running later, this new friendship where he had least expected it. He hadn't ever had close women friends. Mona hadn't been fond of the idea, and to be honest, he hadn't been comfortable with it.

But things changed. There was no Mona to worry about it, and right now, Alex couldn't be picky about friends. Sofia being a woman might have a positive. Maybe she could help his reputation enough around the lab to get Judy to go out with him. He thought he was about ready to date again.

And someone once told him that everything happened for a reason.

* * *

A/N: Let me know how I did in a review. 


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